Disisto looked smug. He had been telling the truth after all.
“I don’t understand,” she managed after a moment or two.
“Obviously.” Rufo wandered around the room, touching panels and studying screens as though bored. “We will return to Cane in a moment. For now I wish to talk about the other clone warrior.”
“What about him?”
“Did you find him?”
“I doubt I would be here now if I had.”
“That’s not necessarily true. These creatures may be ruthless, but they aren’t stupid. If his purposes were not served by killing you, then he would not do so. That is the only explanation I can deduce for your extended survival while in the company of Adoni Cane.”
She couldn’t argue that point. “You believe he was among the outriggers,” she said.
“Did you see anything to suggest that he might have been?”
She thought about Yarrow. “Not hard evidence as such, no...”
“But suspicions?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
Field Officer Shak’ni spoke: “Your cargo hold contains several of these people. Could the clone be among them?”
She shook her head. “They were examined as they boarded. All were ordinary mundanes. Nothing like Cane.”
“Then the one we are seeking might be among the others still at large.” The Kesh grunted to himself. “We will hunt them down, one by one. If he is among them, we will find him.”
Roche gritted her teeth. She’d thought that her capture would end the involvement of the outriggers. “They’re not to blame. They didn’t know—”
“They wouldn’t have,” said Rufo. “These creatures are chameleonic in their ability to blend in, when they want to.
Indeed, that is their primary function: to insinuate. Then to corrupt. Like everything else they do, they do it well.”
“You sound like you’ve studied them for some time,” she said.
Her guard nudged her in the shoulder for speaking out of turn, but Rufo waved him away.
“At a distance, yes, but always after the fact. Only recently have people begun to suspect that something might be going on. Highly placed people. The Highest. They have become concerned. There is evidence to suggest that beings like Cane have been emerging for years now throughout the galaxy—far more than the handful you are aware of. Thousands, possibly millions of them. Although the individuals may not be noticed, their effects are. We mundanes do not see them, though; we are entangled in the details, in the data. A superior perspective is required to tease out the trends.”
“That’s where you got the command language from, then. The High Humans?”
“Yes. One of them or more; I can’t tell. Even individually, they have access to information I can only dream of. Together...” Rufo seemed to gather himself. “Did Cane respond to the command language, by the way? I presume by your question that you detected it.”
“He said he understood fragments but that it didn’t make any sense as a whole. It was jumbled, as though whoever put it together didn’t know what it meant. And the Box said its syntax wasn’t like anything from around here.”
Rufo chuckled softly. “Hardly surprising. Those fragments were recorded over half a million centuries ago.”
For a moment, Roche was speechless.
It was Mavalhin who spoke: “Bullshit.”
The guard clouted him, but the sentiment had been aired.
“I assure you, Myer, it is not,” said Rufo. “Although I will admit to a similar skepticism when I first heard that claim. Of course, since then I have learned more than enough to convince me otherwise. The language Cane and his ilk respond to was written when Humanity was a single pure strain—before the Primordial Castes, before the Pristines, before even the High Castes. It is a piece of history, and Cane is an integral part of it.”
“What do you intend to do with him?” Roche asked.
“He’s not your concern anymore,” said Rufo. “He’ll be kept as he is until we are ready to study him. And study him we will, I assure you. We intend to learn the precise secrets of his genetic makeup and abilities. We want to know how many there are like him, and where they are headed. We need to know who made him, and, more importantly, why.”
“And then,” said Shak’ni, “we will kill him.”
A martial fanfare echoed through the station, and every Kesh in the room suddenly stiffened.
Rufo visibly paled as the sound of marching feet came from the anteroom. The inner door slid open. The Kesh saluted as an officer entered the room surrounded by a full military escort. Roche swiveled in her seat to look.
The new arrival was easily the tallest and strongest Kesh officer she had ever seen—which in itself was impressive. Dressed in armor not dissimilar to the weapons and ships of the Caste—smooth, concave lines tapering to sharp points at odd places, burnished wood in color—with a retractable helmet bearing insignia Roche had never seen in person before, the Kesh general exuded power, confidence, and ruthlessness in equal portions.
The general stopped in the middle of the room and surveyed its contents.
“Sh’shek hroga vied ra vhul kimosh’n ka,” she said, her voice hoarse from an old injury.
“Opulence is a sign of waste,” a junior officer translated. “And waste is forbidden.”
The general continued, via the translator: “I will be glad when this arrangement is concluded, and the stench of inferior species is gone from my nostrils.”
“Kuresh Darkan—” Shak’ni began, but the general cut him off.
“This operation has been conducted without honor. You will be disciplined.”
Shak’ni nodded stiffly, the red veinlike marks on his face standing out. “As you wish,” he said so all could hear and understand.
“General Darkan does not wish to debase herself by speaking to inferiors.” The interpreter’s face was permanently pinched in distaste. “She grants me permission to speak for her. You—Linegar Rufo. Is debriefing concluded?”
The scientist stepped forward, carefully projecting a passive, respectful demeanor. “We are close to finishing, but—”
“Can their word be trusted?”
“Yes, General,” said B’shan. “I have spent enough time with these people to know when they are telling the truth.”
The general nodded distantly. “Then we have learned the precise location of the second warrior.”
“Not exactly,” said Rufo, “but we do have an idea—”
“But we do still have the one called Cane?”
Rufo nodded quickly. “Yes, of course.”
“Then we can abandon the other one to his fate,” said the interpreter. “We cannot linger here. In seventeen hours this system will be nothing but dust. We will leave the moment we have downloaded the contents of the station’s datapool.”
“If I may speak,” said Shak’ni.
The general nodded without looking at him.
“We have captured a vessel—”
“The Ana Vereine,” said the interpreter. “Yes, we know.”
“It contains many new technologies. We have docked it to this station. It should be retained for study.”
“And the AI? What of that?”
“I gave strict instructions that it should be placed under the tightest security. Any transmissions—”
“We are aware of the risks. Any transmissions in either direction will result in its expulsion and destruction. Are you suggesting we keep this, too?”
“It is bounty—”
“What use is a box too dangerous to open? Besides, its technology is irrelevant to us. No intelligence, artificial or otherwise, can equal the Kesh Ideal. Its tricks are worthless and dishonorable.”
Roche wanted to ask what the general thought of the High Humans but decided that speaking out of turn was inadvisable.
The general grunted something in the Kesh language, and the interpreter translated: “We will, however, take the ship. It has a work
ing slow-jump drive, and to leave it here would be folly. What purpose it is put to by the Dictatrix is up to her.”
“And the captives?” Shak’ni asked.
The general gazed contemptuously across the room, directly into Roche’s eyes.
“They will remain here with the others,” said the interpreter with a slight smirk. “When the system collapses, they will die.”
Rufo stepped forward again. “When you say the others,” he said anxiously, “you mean the outriggers, right?”
“Those as well, yes.”
“Ah, as well as—?”
“This station and all those upon it, of course.”
“But our arrangement—”
The interpreter smiled again. “We have no further use for you, Rufo, You are as inferior as the others. It would be a waste of time and effort to return you to your people. Let them save you, if that is what they wish.”
“I—” the scientist stammered, fear and hopelessness rising to fill his eyes. He seemed to age decades in an instant. “That is—you cannot—”
“Jin ‘ek ke yi,” sneered the general.
Roche didn’t need the interpreter to understand; it was clear from the general’s tone and expression. They could do it and they would.
“This is insane!” Disisto’s voice broke the tension in the room.
The general faced him, nostrils flared in anger. A guard struck him in the back, knocking him to the floor.
“You were not permitted to speak,” said the interpreter with a smooth grin.
Disisto picked himself up, wincing. “I don’t give a damn! We’ve done everything you asked us to do here. We’ve worked for you, put ourselves at risk, got you what you wanted—”
The guard whipped an arm around Disisto’s throat and tightened his hold until he could no longer speak or even breathe. Dragging the security chief upright, the guard held him motionless, choking.
Waving the interpreter aside, the general crossed the room to face Disisto. “You think us cruel?” she asked.
Something odd stirred in Roche’s mind—a feeling of unreality, distancing her from the events unfolding before her.
Disisto was unable to reply. The general gestured, and the guard threw Disisto to the floor. The security chief gasped for air, barely able to rise on all fours, let alone speak coherently. The general reached for the guard’s pistol and aimed it at the back of Disisto’s head. She fired, once, and Disisto slumped forward.
“Perhaps we are,” she said, returning the guard’s pistol.
Roche’s vision went blank; all she could see were the words that had flashed one by one on the irikeii’s display.
: BEWARE
: CRUEL
: ONE
: COMES
And all she could smell was the blood pooling around Disisto’s body.
* * *
“N’hok vi ha’kahri tsen!”
Roche snapped out of it. She looked around, trying to find the source of the exclamation, but at first was unable to.
The general’s anger was tempered by her own surprise.
“Who dares claim the Right?” asked the interpreter.
“Ri,” said Haid, standing. “I do.”
“Outrageous!”
Roche was as shocked as anyone. “Ameidio, what are you—?”
“Vask!” The general ordered the room to silence; even those unfamiliar with the language knew what she was demanding. She stepped up to Haid. “Do you realize what it is you do, little man?”
“Du. I claim the Warrior’s Right to challenge a superior’s decision by formal combat.”
“And who made you a Warrior?”
“Sh’manit Dro, the Sixteenth and last G’rodo Matriarch.”
General Darkan hissed through her teeth. “A disgraced lineage.”
Haid nodded. “But a lineage all the same,” he said. “Or perhaps you are unprepared for such a challenge?”
“We are always—”
“Then name a champion to defend your honor,” said Haid smoothly. “Unless you choose to fight yourself.”
The general sneered in open disdain. “I would not demean myself with such a fight. I would stand to lose more honor than I could possibly hope to gain.”
“I will fight him, General,” said Lieutenant-Doctor Haden B’shan. “With your permission, of course.”
The general rounded on Shak’ni’s junior officer. “Clearly you have spent too much time with these people, Lieutenant. There is no time for these games.”
B’shan nodded in agreement. “Nevertheless, he knows the traditions, he speaks the Tongue. I believe his claim to be a legitimate one.”
The general snorted. “It is your decision, Lieutenant. I will not intervene should you wish to debase yourself thus.”
“Yes, but will you honor the victor?” Haid asked.
The general glowered at Haid, her eyes filled with contempt. “You confuse your capabilities with your dreams,” she said shortly. Then: “But should B’shan succumb to that dream, then yes, you will have earned the Right.”
“Your name on it?”
“My name on it.” The general indicated her interpreter and guards. “And these are my witnesses.”
Haid bowed stiffly. “Where do we fight?” he asked. “Here?”
The general thought for a moment, then continued in her native tongue: “On the way here we passed an enclosed area with several observation points; a garden of some kind. That will do.” Then to B’shan, she said, “You can fight while we download this station’s data and free the bounty ship from its chattel.” It took Roche a moment to realize that the general was referring to the outriggers in the hold. “We will leave the moment this farce has ended.”
Haid nodded, apparently satisfied.
“Ameidio—” Roche began.
“Quiet!” Her guard pressed her back into the seat.
“There is no time left for discussion,” the general said. “I want the data transfer to commence as soon as possible. Any physical resources we have contributed to this station will be returned to the Sebettu immediately. However”— she swept the Humans in the room with a warning glance— “a full contingent will remain on board to ensure against further foolishness. Field Officer Shak’ni, you will see personally to the neutralization of the Olmahoi and Surin epsense adepts. They and the clone must be ready to move in one hour. And this time I want no loose ends.”
Shak’ni bowed and stalked out of the room, casting a baleful glance at Roche as he went.
The general allowed herself a chuckle as she spoke to her interpreter.
“The two Warriors will have a moment to reflect upon the import of the task ahead while they wait for the weapons to arrive,” he translated. “The rest of you may clean this up.” He pointed at Disisto’s body. “If you wish,” he added, then turned to follow the general as she strode heavily from the room. B’shan silently followed.
Mavalhin was instantly on his feet. “Congratulations, Rufo,” he spat. “You’ve managed to get us all killed!”
The old scientist didn’t respond. All he could do was stand and stare blankly at the body of his security chief.
“The Kesh drive a hard bargain,” Haid said. “The moment you think you’ve got a fair deal, it’s time to check the fine print.”
Roche put her hand on his arm; his biomesh was sharp and cold to the touch. “Why are you doing this, Ameidio?”
“Because I’ve always wanted to, and I figure this might be my last chance.”
“Be serious—”
“No, I am. You’ve seen the way the Kesh are. They’re impossible to deal with. Anybody who spends any time with them ends up tiptoeing around to avoid causing a fuss. It wears thin after a while. Even the G’rodo were like that; better than most, in a lot of ways, but in the end just as annoying. It’s nice to get your own back, just once.”
She sighed. “Well, what about the weapons? Do you get a choice?”
He shook his head. “When you
invoke an ancient rite, you get what you’re given.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “This is insane.”
“Perhaps, but we don’t really have many options open to us, do we? Unless you have a plan you haven’t let me in on yet?” When she didn’t answer, he smiled and said: “Then I guess we go with my idea.”
Roche muttered under her breath as she turned away from Haid; she faced Rufo and said: “Rufo, you’re still the chief around here, for what it’s worth. How about getting someone in to take Disisto away? I think he deserves better than this, don’t you?”
Rufo nodded numbly and moved over to the console. He spoke briefly to someone outside and, moments later, the Kesh guard let a medical stretcher through. Disisto’s body was bagged up and taken away. Nothing was said by anyone throughout the process; everyone just stood and watched in silence.
“How long do we have?” said Roche after the doors had closed again.
Haid shrugged. “I don’t know. The longer the better. Even artificial limbs need time to limber up.”
Roche stepped over to Rufo. “Is there anything else I should know?” she asked. “Cane is older than I originally thought; the command language has been coming from the High Humans... Anything at all?”
He looked up at her with eyes empty of anything but despair. “What difference does it make now?”
“Spare me your self-pity,” she snapped. “Now talk to me! Do you have any contact names for the High Humans? Or possible suspects for the people who made Cane? There must be something else!”
Rufo stared vacantly into space. Then he said: “Introns.”
“What?”
“Check Cane’s introns.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“We took a tissue sample before we put Cane into hibernation,” he said. “It looks like yours or mine on the surface; it has the same ratio of introns to exons. You see, introns are part of everyone’s genetic code; the junk parts, the filler. The exons do all the work. We assumed the differences lay in the exons, so we concentrated on those areas. But there was something about the introns—something unusual. We haven’t had the time to look at them properly. You could start there.” He stopped, the beginnings of a hopeful gleam in his eye abruptly extinguished. “But you won’t have time either, will you? You can’t even get a message outside to let someone else know.”
The Dying Light Page 32